To a future unknown
by I like angst
Summary: (Rea Life Au) Katya tries to assemble the pieces of a life that she no longer knows the final picutre of. Minor KatxMatt


Katyusha starts working at the bakery on a Wednesday, it is her first job and she is 26. She appears her first day with a neat short-sleeved white blouse and brown skirt that reaches below the knees and smart sensible shoes. She is biting her finger nails which are already short and ragged, but she cannot help it as her nerves gnaw her out from the inside. Her employer is speaking and she nods to show she understands though his accent is a bit difficult for her. She is to clean the baking area at five and help set out the displays at six, at six twenty she is to put the water and beans in for the coffee machines, at six thirty she is to open the doors and man the register, if Francis is nearby or there is a lull in the crowd she is to clean the tables and refill the coffee machines until two when her shift is done. She will work Monday through Friday. If she proves to be someone reliable he will see if she can assist in baking some of the simpler pastries.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and comes a little too close; his blue eyes are boring into her. She looks away and opens her mouth but only a small squeak comes out. He chuckles his free hand loops around one of hers. These are excellent hands for baking, he says pressing the knuckles to his mouth the stubble of his chin scratching her wrist. The kiss is quick but unnerving, they are alone in a hot kitchen and it is dark outside. Her father would not approve, she does not approve, but father would have said it was her fault. It always did amount to something she had done or failed to do.

Her employer pays no mind to her embarrassment though and instead tells her where the apron, mop, and pail are. She did not think to bring a change of clothes so she takes the apron thankfully and throws herself quickly to her work, nervous and afraid; within the first ten minutes she manages to tip the bucket sending dirty water and her employer flying across the floor. She screams and frantically begins to check for head wounds or injuries, but her employer merely laughs it off laying a hand on the small of her back as she helps him to his feet. His hand lingers there a moment too long. But she says nothing. The rest of the day goes by in a blur, she is a klutz and a menace, and it is a wonder that she still has a job at the end of the day, but Francis is kind and a little too friendly. So she walks out relieved, hot, sweaty, and resolved to wear something lighter and less exposable tomorrow.

As the days go by she gets better and the accidents decrease. She is virtually accident free but only when her employer is not near. His sudden appearance is marked by her dropping or breaking something. Otherwise things go rather well, it is never really busy but never really empty either. She is nervous when customers come in she smiles in greeting and is quick to fetch their order. She never speaks to them. Her accent is heavy, her voice is too dull and thick even in Russian—her father always said so. Francis tells her things will pick up once the university starts again. She dreads the thought of having more people possibly hear her. She tells no one this.

It is only a week into her new job when Ivan and Natalie decide to come to visit. Her employer's back is to the door and he is a little too close, his hand brushing off flour from her shirt. The bell rings signaling the opening of the door and he smiles as he turns. 'Sister,' the word is hard and protective. Katya smiles at her family, and introduces them to her employer. Francis laughs and grasps Ivan's hands for a shake. It takes several sharp reprimands for Ivan to let go though, and by then the smile on Francis's face is gone and she can see tears in his eyes as he holds his hand gingerly. 'Nice to meet you,' Ivan says his smile full of ice. Meanwhile, Natalie looks more ominous than usual.

Katya tries to soothe things over with the three of them, but she can see from her employer's eyes that today is her last day here. Her brother and sister wait until the end of her shift. As she goes in the back to get her things she does not see Ivan motion to Francis. She does not see Natalie behind the quaking man urging him to follow her brother. When Katya comes out only Natalie is there. Bewildered she looks for her employer, she cannot simply leave the store unattended. A few minutes later Ivan comes out from a nearby alley and Katya wonders what he was even doing there but says nothing.

Come sister let's go home, he says softly. She shakes her head, she feels she must wait as she is certain Francis will pop up any moment with an excuse for her not to come in tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. Ivan laughs and reassures his sister that she can work there for as long as she wants. She tries to tell him that it's not his decision, but by the look on his face she would not win this argument. 'I cannot leave the store alone,' she tries to say firmly. Her brother laughs and points to a cowering lump in the corner, 'Ah! But Mr. Francis is right here. The store will not be alone, da?' Katya wants to cry but instead walks on dejectedly, muttering a brief goodbye. She is certain tomorrow will be her last day.

She returns the next day and is not fired. Francis is quieter and while she can see no injuries, he walks around like a spooked animal. She feels awful for thinking it, but she prefers him like this. He bakes now with unrestrained energy and vigor. It is like his whole being depended on his creations. The smell of the bakery while always pleasant is intoxicating now. The displays are brimming with luscious delights. She wants to sneak a pastry every now and then but she is stupid and plain and if she were fat no man would ever want her. That was what her father had always said. So she goes without food from morning to noon to only to break fast for a small salad.

It is in her third week when the university opens. The door bell rings every other minute with another harried student. They are brisk and often times rather rude. She rushes with their orders as much as she can but gets nervous and makes a thousand little mistakes. They look at her with condescension like she is some little annoying bug and it takes everything in her not to cry. Sometimes they do not whisper and do not hurry. And she hates this most of all. There are boys who do not meet her eyes but do not take her eyes off her. They ask for her name, ask when she gets off, if she goes to school, she says nothing but only burns up red in embarrassment, and only speaks to mumble a good day. They laugh, they can tell she is foreigner and what is said in English is often rude vulgar and disgusting. The gestures they make about her chest make her wish she could just die.

There are also girls who look at her and dislike her, though she cannot understand why. One early morning a small gaggle of girls still dressed in pajama pants have ordered two pastries to split and three scolding hot black coffees. She watches them open up their books and sandwiching the pastries between them. They talk quietly and it looks like they will be the sole occupants for a while, so she goes about cleaning the rest of the tables because the evening staff, an Italian boy who always seems so angry, hardly ever cleans.

As she begins to scrub out what looks to be a stain from a blueberry Danish she hears their voices dip lower, as if whispering. But she hears them anyway. Her hands shake as their words reverberate through her head. Her breasts are too large, like some plastic Barbie. They think she must be some mail-order bride or trying to be one. She is shaking with what she cannot understand.

'Women like that haven't got anything else to offer except their bodies.'

Katya straightens up, her back rigid and tense as slowly walks away. She tries not to hear them, or look in their direction. She makes her way to the staff bathroom where she locks the door and finally allows tear after tear to trail down her cheeks. It is fifteen minutes later when a harried Francis knocks on the door. 'Katya are you there,' he says something else in French. She doesn't know what it means but she can tell he is not happy. She wipes at her eyes furiously. She's so stupid, locking herself in the bathroom when she is supposed to be working.

'I'm here. I'm sorry I. . .I.. I just got flour in my eyes and was trying to wash it out.' She opens the door and she must be a sight because Francis seems slightly taken aback.

She moves to go back to her post but Francis grasps her arm. He insists she sit, but not in the bathroom there are nicer places. She feels rather stupid and sits in the back by the ovens. After a half-hour Francis calls her to the front. He asks her if she is alright, if she wants to talk about it. She shakes her head weakly no.

'It isn't anything I did?' He asks anxiously. She shakes her head no and he continues in a strained voice. 'You'll let your brother know that right?' She nods yes. He lets out the breath he has been holding and simply nods his head good, good.

The rest of the day is a blur; she cannot shake off what they said. She is distracted and messes up and in turn becomes more upset. The clock on the wall crawls and hours feel like days. Finally her shift is over. She walks home by herself; Ivan has engineering classes in the afternoon and she knows Natalie has ballet until seven. She is alone and she wants to cry and tears fall down her cheeks until she reaches the door. On the steps of the house she rubs furiously at her eyes trying to hide her weakness. No one is there. The house is oppressive, overly large and meticulously arranged for display but not for living. It is clean her, brother and sister are both so neat and simply cannot understand that it is her job to take care of them. Still she begins the dusting trying to wipe away the grime that isn't there. She starts upstairs in her room and then her siblings, and debates briefly whether she should ask her brother why he has a dented sink pipe under his bed. She decides it is probably best not to ask.

She gives the guest room a thorough cleaning wasting time as if trying to avoid the inevitable. Finally she comes to the last room in the hall and stops herself from knocking, because really no one will answer, and simply enters. She knows this room like the back of her hand but it still sends a chill down her spine. The large wooden poster bed is still perfectly made up, with a mink fur blanket that had been bought that brief year they had lived in Belarus. Under the bed is pair of size ten men shoes that are to be polished every Saturday so they look good for Sunday mass. They have not gone to Mass in over five months but still she cannot fight that compulsion. The mahogany dresser still has two silver cufflinks and a glass tray inlaid with gold. Next to it, there are two cigars in a crystal ash tray. In the second shelf to the right there is a metal flask which contains a just one mouthful of vodka left in it along with a medicine bottle whose prescription has expired. In the back of the closet underneath the ironing board is a box with a carefully folded old military uniform of a country a world away. She knows all these things cannot hurt her, but still her heart is hammering here. She dusts quickly and bumps and bangs into things and mutters an 'I'm sorry' into the air. When she is done, she runs out and locks the door behind her.

An hour later, the house looks the same –perfectly clean— she begins dinner. Tonight will be borscht and some salad. She has also heated up the chicken from the other night; her brother could always eat so much. The pot is simmering and almost ready when the phone rings. Ivan will not be home, that is the part she can understand. His reception is horrendous and she isn't entirely sure what she's hearing. Either her brother is going out on a date with his English tutor or Ivan is following his English tutor and his date. It is probably the first, she hopes. Natalie calls a few minutes later; she is sleeping over a friend's house as brother will not be home. She asks if this is okay and, of course it is okay with Katya. It is always okay with Katya, there is no need to worry on her account. Katya will be alone tonight. She has a bowl of soup and puts away the rest; perhaps her brother and sister will eat it tomorrow. She prepares herself for bed walking briskly past the door with the locked room. Quickly she is in bed, bundled up with the warm quilt she had made not so long ago. It takes her three hours to fall asleep from her tears.

The next day she is tired and sleeps past her alarm and rushes to work ten minutes late. She tries to apologize but Francis is in a hurry, he will be gone from 8 to 12, he has some business to attend to. She will have to man the bakery by herself. All the pastries have already been laid out; this will not be a problem will it. And she shakes her head 'no, of course not.' And she tries to mean it honestly, but when he leaves through the bustling doors a sick feeling of dread pits itself in her stomach.

Traffic comes in bursts, right before the beginning of classes' students rush in demanding food and coffee. She is trying to hurry but she messes up, tries to correct herself, but their anger and half-whispered insults and looks only make her more flustered and accident prone. She is messing up, she is very good at messing up. Several people walkout during the first rush and she feels like a failure. The only good thing about these bursts is just as quickly as they come they are gone and things are quite for about an hour before the next crowd comes in. So when they leave she puts her head in her hands and bites her lip and it is all she can do to keep from crying.

She tries to pull herself together and perhaps it is because she is drawn into her own little world that she does not hear the jingle of the door or the soft footsteps that come closer. All she knows is that she looks up and nearly jumps back when she sees the man in front of her. He seems startled as well.

'I'm sorry.' The words spill simultaneously from two sets of mouths. This makes both even more nervous. Finally the man coughs and looks away.

'Can I have one beaver tail.' He speaks so softly that she is unsure that she has heard him right. Beaver tail, wasn't a beaver an animal? He seems to catch her confusion and points to one of the farther displays.

'One of these please.'

Her eyes follow his finger and sure enough there is a flat pastry sprinkled with cinnamon labeled 'beaver tails.'

'Oh, of course,' she says quickly feeling a little silly and goes to retrieve one. 'It will be three dollars,' she tells him and smiles. He moves to pay pulling out an old brown leather wallet that is curiously duct tapped closed. Carefully he removes the duct tape opening up the mouth of the wallet and frowns. His fingers dig into the small empty space a single white paper fluttering out into the counter. She does not know what an I.O.U means, but it doesn't look to be very nice judging by the stormy expression on the man in front of her. He is muttering something now half in English and half in a language that sounds almost familiar.

'Is everything okay sir?'

'Yes, I'm sorry I should be okay.' He laughs but it sounds uncertain. He unzips the back of his wallet and begins pulling out coins. There are a lot of pennies nickels and dimes and the more he counts the more flustered he seems to get. He has two dollars and fifty cents. He tells her he is sorry and he won't be taking the pastry. She tells him 'no, it is okay ten cents isn't a problem.' They both insist otherwise and she feels a little stupid and thinks she might cry when he keeps on saying no and she is simply trying to be nice. When her eyes start to tear he says 'I am sorry' and 'thank you' several times in between her 'I'm sorry' and 'you don't have to if you don't want to.' It takes ten minutes before the man finally takes the pastry and sits down at a table by the door.

She is a little flustered at first having almost cried. However, as she thinks about it, really starts to think about it, she cannot help but find it funny. She forgets how quiet it is and a chuckle squeezes past her lips and she is startled at how loud her own soft voice sounds. She looks up and the man is looking at her again his cheeks flushed, she had forgotten he was still here. The door chimes and she looks quickly away at the two figures entering. 'Syestra.' 'Miss Katya.' She smiles at Ivan and Toris, her brother's occasional English tutor. Though she doesn't understand why he still needs a tutor his English was excellent, they have been here ten years now. Still, he is a good friend. She wonders what it is like to have a friend.

Ivan asks how she is doing while staring intently at the door to the back as if assuming Francis was there. She laughs that everything is good, and wonderful. She feels flustered and hates doing it, but she insists that she has a customer to attend to and she doesn't have time to simply chat. 'Who?' She looks around the man is gone.

Ivan and Toris leave shortly, taking a small coffee and snack with them. She does not like shooing her brother away but she is the eldest. She is the one who is supposed to watch over him. So why does he always waste his time looking after her. He has so many other things he could be doing. Why can't he understand that?

When the next day comes she is startled to find three dollars and fifty cents waiting on the counter and a vaguely familiar face. It takes her a few moments to remember before she laughs.

'I would like another beaver tail, please.' Dutifully she gets one.

'You did not have to,' she says holding up the dime. She does not want to argue over something silly but feels a little bothered that he will not take her kindness.

'No, thank you for yesterday. I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't pay you back.' It looks like he too is trying to avoid a silly argument.

She has a regular it would seem. He comes in the next day, and the after that, and for a whole week straight at the same time. He drifts between the quiet intervals just as one set leaves and before another can take its place. They exchange quick 'hello's and 'how are you?' in between each order. She is too embarrassed to say anymore and he does not push it any farther. He is quiet and unassuming, light brown hair and pale skinned. At first when she doesn't concentrate he seems to waver in and out of sight blending into the background, even though no one is there. So it seems rather strange to her when on a Friday she notices, as she prepares a small cup of tea, that his hair is not a light brown but the rich deep shade of honey.

Her weekends have grown to be rather quiet near the end of September. School is a busy time for Ivan and Natalie and she envies the intensity they show their studies. It is one of the few times they are ever messy as they have left their books out upon the kitchen table. There is a study room which she dusts every Tuesday and Friday, but it is not for their use.

She moves the books into two neat piles, careful to preserve the reader's place when she finds something odd. She looks at the realtor brochure in shock for a moment, before she realization strikes. She rushes to the garbage with quick and self-assured steps and mechanically and methodically she shreds the paper leaving it unrecognizable to the world.

On Monday she asks Francis if she can work more hours. But he apologizes and says he has enough help as is. She is distracted throughout the day and is slow and spacey and almost does not see her regular, if he hadn't have tripped on his way out she would have not even known he had come at all. She feels sorry, but she cannot muster up the proper energy for her remorse. On her way home she buys a newspaper.

For the next few days she comes into work anxiously. She is careful to be more attentive and apologizes again to the young man for the previous day and strangely enough she offers an excuse, 'I have been thinking too much.' She is a bit surprised that she has offered to tell him this, small as it is. It feels odd, a strange departure from, 'hello, can I take your order.'

'I hope everything is okay,' he responds. And the ways he says it makes her think he means it. She laughs weakly and says, 'Yes, I'm fine.'

He looks uncertain and then nods. 'That's good then.' Neither is certain of what to say next. So they both opt for awkward silence. The young man moves to his seat and she simply looks away.

Things are awkward the next day and he has ordered and said thank you and she has said you're welcome she pulls out her paper. She goes through the want ads it is riddled with x's of jobs she was in no way qualified for, or jobs already taken, or simply too inappropriate. She crushes the paper in frustration. He leaves as quietly as he has come but in his place is a college newspaper and it is opened to prospective jobs and internships. She blinks as she is uncertain of what to think the jobs circled make no sense to her. Nanny wanted, sales help needed, homecare worker, these do not look like jobs a young man in college would look into. These looked like things she would do. When the realization hits her she feels tears stream down her face she folds the paper carefully into her purse. When she gets home she makes a few phone calls and inquiries and feels good.

The paper is crumpled up in the garbage in the kitchen when she wakes up the next morning. Ivan is awake before her and he smiles when he sees her, but it looks strained and forced. She smiles too. 'Hello Syestra, how did you sleep?' 'Well and you?' 'Good.' The conversation dies there. Each continues to stare at the other as if waiting for something more. The divide between them stretches beyond the table. Katya cannot take anymore and with quick jerky movements cleans her place setting and leaves.

Katya hurries to work. With a strange and nervous energy she scrubs and cleans anything that is standing still. Things are quiet and she cannot take the unexpected calm. It is ten minutes before eight and she has the beaver claw already wrapped. The young man seems startled to find it there when he comes five minutes later. She looks up briefly and smiles as she wipes down the table he sits at. 'I thought I would have it ready.' She explains. 'You like that, yes? Did you want anything else?' She makes a move to go back behind the counter before he shakes his head.

'No, no, I'm fine. I'll just leave you to your cleaning then.' He lays three dollars out on the counter and moves toward the door. Katya stops looking up confused and a little anxious.

'Are you leaving? I just cleaned your table.' Her voice is higher than normal and it sounds almost pleading. And the young man seems almost taken a back.

'My what?'

'You sit here, you always sit here.' She gestures at the table. She feels a flustered now. Did she say something wrong? He is looking at her and just at her and she is uncomfortable with the attention. She feels herself getting red in the face. When he speaks his words fall out haltingly and unsure.

'I. . .I . . . I guess it is? Thank you.' He is smiling though she cannot guess why and for a moment she doesn't really care because he really has a very nice smile. She forgets herself for a little while until the scraping of a chair. He is leaving. Her feet and hands move on their own accord and before she knows what she is doing she has grabbed his arm. He turns around looking startled and perplexed.

'Thank you, thank you very much.' And she cannot say anything else, because even though it amounted to nothing she still feels tears threatening to spill.

'You're welcome,' he says placing his hand on hers. It is awkward for a minute as both are unsure of what to do next. Finally they did what was only natural and fled from each other muttering soft goodbyes.

She waits to get his order the next time he comes in. He smiles in greeting and the exchange pleasantries all too quickly. He seems tired and a bit off as he chews absently at his pastry and gazes at his notes. He seems startled when she taps on his shoulder. She puts a small coffee in front of him. He looks tired and in need of the hot drink. He protests and offers to pay but she refuses. He is a regular, she says, we are allowed to treat regulars every now and then. It is what Francis says, she offers as an explanation. He looks at the coffee strangely as if imagining it. She goes behind the counter to retrieve the sugar bowl and milk jar.

He thanks her and smile again and she can see the gleaming of his white teeth behind handsome lips. She feels her face warm up.

'It is no problem.' She does not know if he can hear her, when she is not sure if her lips have even moved. He mixes in another spoon of sugar and just a little milk into the hot coffee cup. He blows on the hot liquid and she watches as his lips purse. She turns around quickly afraid that he will catch her staring. What is wrong with her, he is probably the same age as her younger brother. And even these thoughts do not slow her quickly beating heart.

She avoids looking at him until he leaves. Her face is still red and she mumbles a brief goodbye. She feels silly. When her shift ends she hurries home. Ivan and Natalie come home the same time. Ivan is carrying his old skates, and he looks tired. Natalie is clinging to his arm tightly. They offer no explanation and she asks for none. Like ghosts they occupy the house their silence a tangible presence, a menacing threat.

On Saturday she sees more brochures. She buys another paper.


End file.
